Kossith
by bluRaaven
Summary: You know you have a problem when you happen to be the only one of your race who's not a complete fanatic nutcase. You may be in trouble as royal offspring with a pedigree to catapult you straight up into the ranks of those you would rather avoid and a preference for his own gender. Add to it being a covert mage, you're way out of luck. But when you also happen to be Kossith...


_You know you have a problem when you happen to be the only one of your race who's not a complete fanatic nutcase. You may be in trouble as royal offspring with a pedigree to catapult you straight up into the ranks of those you would rather avoid and a preference for his own gender. Add to it being a covert mage, you're way out of luck._

_But when you also happen to be Kossith…you emigrate. Preferably, to the other side of the world._

* * *

Let me introduce myself, yes? My name is Caelan, pleased to meet you. It is not the name I was born with, but the one I chose for myself. I like the sound of it, so don't judge me. The alternative of my given 'name' was much worse, trust me.

I am twenty-six years old, have silver-violet eyes – it looks a lot better than it sounds, really – and hair of the lightest blond and a beard. As a child a seeress poked me in the forehead and said I'm special. You see, my people _are_ special. Specially challenged.

I keep the hair long and the beard short and neat and laugh every time I think about Ashkaari Koslun spinning in his grave. He must be dizzy by now.

My people don't keep body hair as it is considered _dohag_. Roughly that translates into unclean and yes, it is forbidden. Only not on the head and then it's usually white. Which would instantly turn me into an old geezer, thank you very much.

I guess I am good looking for a species that at some time must have interbred with Qalaba. If not, then I am at least quite happy to be different.

I also stand at roughly seven feet and two inches – roughly, because I'm not sure whether to stop measuring at the head or horns. We'll come to that problem later.

Anyway, being seven feet tall is great for peeking over the heads of crowds in the market; less so for trying to be inconspicuous. Add to it the statue of a hulking brute and you'd think people would move out of the way. Yeah, they don't. There is nothing more self-absorbed and single-minded than afternoon shopping crowds.

You see, and herein lies the crux of my dilemma; I am also a Kossith. Not a Qunari, a very important distinction in my opinion. I guess most of my own race would refer to me as Vashoth, one who has abandoned the Qun. I never followed it much in first place so I couldn't very well have abandoned it, could I?

If you haven't heard of the Qunari yet, you must be living with your head buried in the ground. There's no other explanation for it, since lately they can be found _everywhere_. And making themselves heard preaching about the Qun is their field of expertise.

I'll explain anyway, just in case. The Qunari are a people who follow the Qun and live on Par Vollen. And now Seheron, although the Tevinter Imperium may have something to say on the matter once they sort out their cutthroat affairs of state and get their military forces back together.

Par Vollen is a beautiful island chain of sapphire seas, jungles, mosquitoes and wild animals that will eat you when you go out for a leisurely evening stroll. It is located north of Pirate Peninsula, northeast of Assassin Country and thankfully very far away from Crazy Mage Land. It lies to the south of We Don't Go There and west of We've Never Actually Been There.

It also happens to be infested with my kinsmen whom every other race considers to be insane. Kind of like Dalish women, only the Qunari are worse. They _know_ themselves to be in the right about absolutely everything. Yeah. Ever tried to argue with one? My advice: don't do it.

What else is there to say? We are the people who have built our racial identity around horn carvings, body paint and avoiding having a good time. We slavishly adhere to the Qun, the writings of a long-dead philosopher and never leave out an opportunity to impose our belief on others.

(We also run at each other at full speed and bang our heads together for ceremonial purposes.)

Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. I have reasons to be bitter. The Qun raises some very good points and it wouldn't be so bad if everything had not been taken literally. And if my people didn't have stubbornness issues. The Qunari have no understanding of wealth, entertainment or lovemaking or so many other things humans spend their whole lives chasing. It leaves more time for _duty_.

You think being a mage is having it bad? Or a Dalish in the city? Try this: you can actually get executed in Par Vollen for shirking your duty and having fun! How is that for living on the Island of Suck?

My mother, well she wasn't my mother, just the woman taking care of the group of children that I was a part of, used to tell me that making funny expressions will make them stick to your face. I guess she should have told the others. I swear I'm the only one _not_ stuck with a face like I had the smell rotting fish trapped in my nose. The permanent frown of disapproval and unquestioning superiority is a trademark of the Qunari and Vashoth both.

Me? I'm happy. Mostly anyway. I tend to stand out a lot. The humans will gladly hire me as a guard for my bodily prowess, the probably only thing Kossith I am actually darned proud of, but they distrust me even so. The elves point fingers if I blunder into one of their districts and the dwarves scatter, probably out of fear I might accidentally step on them.

Which is where the matter of the horns comes in. It won't make me human, but it might make me fit in a little bit better if I removed them. Since a return to Qunari society is non-disputable and they are pretty useless anyway it wouldn't be much of a loss. It can be done, painlessly, but then the bloody things won't grow back. Ever. I'm still torn over the issue.

Other than that I try to enjoy life as much as I can. I practice swordplay nearly every day to keep my skills as honed as the edge of my blade. I lie on the beach and watch the waves; a much better way to enlightenment if you ask me than burying my nose in a book. I get drunk on occasion and am a very welcome guest in taverns since it takes copious amounts of drink to knock me out. I get my purse cut from time to time and I play the lute when I'm in the mood. I know how to sail a ship and I love the open sea.

I do not have much of a private life. I have no problems with taking a human as lover, but outside of Antiva that is way easier said than done. Also, I like men. They do not seem to like me back.

But I am resolute in my conviction of remaining an optimist. If you think a Qunari on a murderous rampage draws attention, try smiling. You'd think I've grown a second head and eaten a baby.

How did I stay sane? I was abducted. Which is normally not a good thing, I understand. Maker bless Rivain. I grew up with humans; if the dregs of a pirate society can be called that. I fought for my freedom and eventually won it and travelled. I did some crazy stuff back in Antiva that I am glad to have left with my head still attached to my shoulders and I've been to Nevarra, the Home of Nothing in Particular and the Never-Ending Marches. I've made a pilgrimage to Kirkwall where my sire got his head loped off by a nobleman gone rogue in protection of my erstwhile captor and his glowing apostate lover.

It doesn't get much better than that. Oh wait, it does!

My greatest secret? I know magic. It has been a latent talent for so long I got away from Par Vollen before I blew up my first barn. I thank Andraste for it every day. Do you know what they do with mages in Qunari society? No? Then you don't want to find out.

I learned enough that I won't accidentally set myself on fire. The elves in Dog Lord Kingdom taught me. I'm being mean. Ferelden is great, unless you happen to have an allergy to dog hair, an aversion to mud or a liking of warm, sunny places. Anyway, the Dalish, though nuttier than squirrel droppings, are the only ones who don't stick their mages in towers for the rest of their lives, so I didn't have much of a choice in searching them out.

Do the demons bother me? No, not really. No more than the temptation of an unsupervised market stall or a brothel. I know how to resist. What I couldn't resist was that damn offer that turned my already somewhat chaotic life completely upside-down.

Let me tell you my story. I guess they call it the Rupture Of The Fade now, the Third Great Calamity Of This Blighted Age, or something equally dramatic.

For me, it all began when I applied for the wrong job…

* * *

**AN:** A Qalaba is a cattle Qunari breed that is also known for its stupidity.

Since I know next to nothing about DA Inquisition, I have to stop here. I might resume Caelan's adventures once I actually play the game. This is the sarcastic, vain, somewhat dopey yet charming and hopelessly romantic Kossith 'hero' who dislikes anything Qunari and who becomes best buddies with Varric whom I intend to play.

I hope you liked this short story, let me know if you did. Thank you for reading!


End file.
